He turns his hand over, the movement slow, as if testing waters he's not sure he should be crossing.
My breath catches as his fingers find mine, lacing through them with a familiarity that feels both foreign and inevitable. The contact sends electricity up my arm, making the fine hairs stand on end. He gently squeezes my hand, his thumb grazing over the back of it in a slow, circular motion that feels dangerously intimate. Each pass of his thumb sends another jolt through me.
"Hey, Andy?" His voice has dropped even lower, barely audible over the restaurant's ambient chatter, yet somehow it cuts through everything else, demanding my full attention.
"Yeah?"
"You're heartless and morbid."
The accusation is delivered with a soft smile that takes the sting out of his words, but the intensity in his eyes suggests there's more beneath the surface.
I laugh, but my pulse races. The restaurant around us fades to a blur of muted colors and distant sounds, the clinking of silverware and murmur of conversations becoming white noise. Suddenly, Vince is the only person I can see, the only one who matters in the entire restaurant.
Then Ted's voice cuts through the air like a knife.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Chapter 20
The Truth in the Candlelight
Andrew
ThesoundofTed'svoice cuts through the restaurant's murmur like shattered glass. I yank my hand away as though it has been burned, the sudden loss of Vince's warmth leaving my fingers tingling. My heart plummets, the brief moment of connection with Vince evaporating.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Ted stands there, his perfect smile fixed in place, but his eyes tell a different story. They're cold, calculating, taking in every detail of the scene—Vince's hand still hovering where mine had been, the intimate lean of our bodies across the table, the candlelight casting us in its private glow. The fury simmeringbeneath his polished exterior is unmistakable, a predator barely restrained.
"I'm Ted." Ted's voice is all false cheer as he extends a hand toward Vince, as if he hasn't just witnessed something that would make any reasonable man's blood boil.
I watch, my stomach churning, as Vince rises smoothly from his chair, his face a mask of polite neutrality.
"Vince."
The handshake happens in slow motion, Ted's fingers wrapping around Vince's in that familiar, disappointing grip. It's limp, clammy, utterly devoid of confidence. I've always wondered how a man whose livelihood depends on making people trust him could possess such a terrible handshake. It belongs in a museum of social failures.
Vince's expression remains unreadable, but I can see his reaction—the slight tightening of his jaw, the almost imperceptible withdrawal of energy that always accompanies contact with Ted's damp palm.
How does he sell million-dollar homes with that handshake? The question has haunted me since our first date, but now it feels like a metaphor for everything wrong between us.
"I can't believe I finally get to meet you," Ted says, his voice overly enthusiastic as his hand finds its way to my back. His gaze never leaves Vince. "Andrew's best friend gets to see him more than I do, but I never catch him around. Weird, right? I didn't expect you to be so old, if I'm being honest, you sounded a lot younger on the phone—"
"I was hoping to meet you at the campout," Vince says smoothly, his tone even.
"I don't do camping, man," Ted replies with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Right," Vince says with a slight smile. "So I heard."
I grab Ted's arm, squeezing as hard as I can.
"Quit it," I hiss under my breath.
Vince doesn't seem fazed by Ted's childish behavior. His attention shifts to the tall woman who has just joined us at the table, and the entire atmosphere of the restaurant seems to change around her.
"This is Sam," Vince says, gesturing toward her.
And I'm breathless. I knew she'd be beautiful, but Samantha is something else entirely. She moves with a dancer's grace, each step deliberate and fluid, as if the restaurant floor is her stage. Her sun-kissed light brown hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, catching the candlelight and turning it to liquid gold. But it's her eyes that captivate. They're a striking green, with flecks of amber that seem to glow. They're intelligent eyes, observant and warm, and when they meet mine across the table, I feel like she's seeing right through me, yet without judgment.
